


Compass That Guides

by ThistleOfLiberty



Series: Not Flesh and Blood Series [9]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: 5x02 "Haunted", Corporal Punishment, Episode Tag, Families of Choice, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Spanking, Trauma, vaguely suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:44:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThistleOfLiberty/pseuds/ThistleOfLiberty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to season 5 episode "Haunted". Hotch shouldn't have entered that house and Morgan wants Rossi to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Families are the compass that guides us. They are the inspiration to reach great heights, and our comfort when we occasionally falter.
> 
> Brad Henry, American politician

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

”So what do you want me to do?”

The defeated note in David Rossi’s voice was uncharacteristic and to be entirely honest it made Morgan uncomfortable. If anyone had asked him just a few months ago if he thought it would be amusing to see the older man at a loss, he would have said yes without hesitation. But now, with Aaron Hotchner in the emotional turmoil that he was, Morgan realized that he, in some subconscious way, had relied on Rossi to be there to fix the unit chief. But Rossi wasn’t doing _anything_ , just watching Hotch self-destruct, and it actually pissed Morgan off slightly.

“Something!” he retorted, anger creeping into his voice again. “Hotch needs you, Rossi.”

At that Rossi sat down heavily and closed his eyes, looking old and weary. Morgan almost felt bad about arguing with him; he knew how hard the last month had been on the older profiler. Rossi hadn’t only taken care of Hotch; he’d acted as the temporary boss of the team and also, though Morgan didn’t like admitting it, as the father of the small family that they were; listening to everyone’s sorrows and offering advice. It couldn’t be easy.

Rossi spread his hands in defeat. “I’ll talk to him,” he said.

Morgan seriously considered leaving it at that. It wasn’t really his place to push further. The dynamics of their makeshift family weren’t very clearly defined, but it was clear that Hotch was in charge and that the only one allowed calling him on his behavior was Rossi, and to a certain degree Gideon. But since Rossi apparently had no intention of doing so, Morgan felt that it was his duty as whatever he was to Hotch to make Rossi realize that what Hotch needed right now was someone to tell him that despite that his world had crumbled he still had people who cared and who he was responsible to.

“I think you should do more than that,” he said, bravely meeting Rossi’s eyes and trying to ignore the nervousness that made him want to fidget. The older man frowned in confusion for a moment before he caught on to what Morgan was talking about.

“You think I should spank him,” he clarified, eyebrows raised and his tone slightly accusing. To Morgan’s annoyance, Rossi had a way about him that made it very difficult not to react when he used a certain tone of voice, and he had to steel himself not to go on the defensive.

“Yeah, I do,” he said, “You know it’s what would happen to Reid or me if we did anything like it. And it’s what you would have done before Foyet.”

“Exactly,” Rossi retorted sharply, “Before Foyet. He’s been through a severe trauma! Things aren’t the same as they were before. He needs time.”

Morgan shook his head in disbelief. “You were the one who gave him the dressing down of his life for being an idiot after Kate died and told him that no matter what he’d been through he couldn’t endanger his well-being and I’m pretty sure you spanked him for it. Why is this so different?”

“Because the trauma is considerably more severe and…” Rossi began, but then suddenly broke off and gave Morgan a hard look, frowning, “Wait a minute; how do you know what I told Hotch?”

Despite the seriousness of the situation Morgan gave a small chuckle. “If you want to yell at someone in private a hotel room really isn’t the way to go. I think you really freaked Reid out.”

The frown on Rossi’s face lifted and he smirked slightly, “Kid never heard anyone chew his hero out before, huh?”

Morgan shrugged, not bothering to answer. “Mind if I sit down?” he asked instead, and at Rossi’s inviting gesture he did so, leaning back comfortably in the chair in an attempt to establish control over the situation. Rossi, ever astute, seemed to realize Morgan’s intention, if the smirk and the raised eyebrows were anything to go by, but didn’t comment. “So, what’s different?”

“I thought we didn’t do inter-team profiling,” Rossi replied, carefully studying Morgan for his reaction to the statement.

It was true, Morgan supposed, but this wasn’t really profiling. This was two concerned friends discussing the best way to help a third friend. Family discussing how to keep the rest of the family safe and intact.  

“You know this isn’t like that, Rossi,” he snapped, hating the older man for his ability to swerve around the subject, “I’m just trying to do the best I can to keep my family together.”

Rossi’s face softened considerably at that, a small smile on his lips, and an almost proud look in his eyes. Morgan normally didn’t like talking about how much the team actually meant to him, but he figured that Rossi really could use a reminder right now.

“I know that, Derek,” Rossi replied gently, “and I respect it. But I’m not sure discipline is what Hotch needs right now.”

“Well, I am! Hotch isn’t the only one concerned, you know. You think it doesn’t affect the rest of the team when their leader acts like this?”

In a way, that was just as worrying to Morgan as the threat to Hotch’s own safety. Prentiss and JJ he knew could handle it. They were both concerned, of course, but they had always known that Hotch was human and they had faith in the strength of the team’s ability to help him. Reid was another matter altogether. First of all, the realization that Hotch wasn’t invincible had hit him hard. The young man had a both endearing and unsettling tendency for hero-worship. Gideon, Hotch and Rossi were all unbeatable and superhuman in his view of the world. Secondly, Reid had little experience with family and probably didn’t trust their bonds to hold through difficult times.

Then there was Garcia. The tech was fiercely protective in her own way of the entire team, and she hated seeing any of them in pain. That it was Hotch only made it worse, since she didn’t know how to comfort him. Gideon was probably concerned as well, but Morgan didn’t consider him his responsibility.

“Of course I know it affects them,” Rossi replied, “I just think that Hotch can figure this out on his own.”

Morgan frowned. “Why should he have to?” he demanded, “We’re family. He isn’t supposed to have to deal with things on his own.”

With a pained grimace and a deep sigh, Rossi leant back in his chair. “You’re right, kid,” he replied quietly, “You really are. It’s just…”

He trailed off, apparently uncertain whether this was something he wanted to share with the younger man. Morgan sympathized; it couldn’t be easy baring one’s heart to a subordinate.

“Just what?” he prompted anyway, somehow sensing that Rossi needed to talk about this and since there was no-one else there he might as well be the one he talked to.

“When I decided to come back to the BAU,” Rossi began, absentmindedly looking out the window, “I gave my relationship with Hotch some serious consideration. I was his mentor, y’know. He’s my kid, I guess. But it couldn’t really work like that if he was to be my boss, so I decided I’d treat him as an equal. And I try to do that. He gets away with stuff he wouldn’t have ten years ago and I don’t boss him around. Except… well, I can’t really ignore that he’s still my kid. I mean, he’s a great unit chief and he’s an exceptional agent in every way. All grown up, y’know? He even has a son. But I guess that I just can’t stop feeling like he’s my responsibility.”

Normally Morgan would have been incredibly amused at hearing the stern unit chief referred to as “all grown up”, but as it were he simply filed it away for possible future teasing.

“Sure,” he agreed, “so act like it! He isn’t really acting grown up, is he? He’s being a jerk to everyone and he’s self-destructing. He needs someone to snap him out of it, and I don’t really give a damn how it affects your relationship with him!”

Rossi frowned and glared at Morgan, who met his gaze steadily with an almost defiant posture. After a moment, the older man nodded slowly.

“Again, Derek, you’re right,” he said, heaving a deep sigh. “But I have to ask myself if it’s really a spanking he needs. He’s a grown man, and I can’t keep treating him like a kid forever.”

That caused Morgan to frown. He hadn’t really considered that part of the issue. The knowledge that you probably couldn’t keep disciplining someone forever had been there, somewhere in the back of his mind, but he had always assumed that one would know when it was time not to act as a disciplinarian. Apparently, it wasn’t all that easy.

“All right, I get that,” he conceded, “But like I said, before Foyet, you would have spanked him, right?”

Rossi raised his eyebrows slightly. “Probably, yeah.”

“But now..? Is he more grown up, or what?”

“No, he’s not,” Rossi conceded, “But for the last month, I’ve been treating him a little like a kid, to be honest, ‘cause of his injuries and I don’t want to upset the team dynamics even further.”

Morgan had to suppress a smirk. Hearing the great David Rossi admit that he was concerned about the team’s dynamics was a far cry from what he had expected when Rossi first rejoined the Bureau, mostly because the older man seemed to try his best to give the impression that he didn’t care, and it still gave him some satisfaction to watch Rossi’s façade slip.

“You won’t,” he assured the man, “We all know how it’s like between you and Hotch. We’re cool with it; even Reid.”

Rossi closed his eyes with a deep sigh and leant back in the chair.

“Okay,” he said, “You win, kid. I’ll talk to him tomorrow, and depending on what he says I might or might not do more. That all right with you?”

The question was, of course, dripping with sarcasm of the usual Rossi brand, but what had come before it had been said in all seriousness. Morgan nodded.

“Yes,” he said. Rossi sighed again and brought a hand up to massage his forehead.

“I should demand extra pay for this,” he muttered, then looked up and shot Morgan a glare, “Now get out.”

Morgan, not entirely sure whether the older man was annoyed for real or not, did as he was told. When he reached the door and turned to say good night, he noticed that Rossi had pulled out his phone. Curious, he raised his eyebrows in question.

“Who you calling?” he asked. Rossi simply looked at him for a while, seemingly debating whether to answer or not.

“Confirmation I’m not gonna screw things up by doing this,” he then said, and pushed a few buttons on his phone, raising it to his ears; a clear dismissal. Morgan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the obvious power-demonstration, but he did leave. He had no doubt this was a personal call; partly considering the probable subject of it and partly considering the fact that it was almost midnight, and he believed in respecting people’s privacy, for the most part.

He was almost already down in the bullpen when Rossi called out to him.

“Derek!” he said, and Morgan turned to be met by a small but genuine smile entirely without irony. “Thanks.”


	2. Chapter 2

Alexandre Leroy had just gone to bed when his phone rang, emitting a loud and annoying signal, because even though he was told it was possible he hadn't managed to change it, and he swore softly under his breath as he rolled over to answer it. Joanne, his lovely wife, gave him an inquiring look and he shrugged in response, reaching over and grabbing the phone from the nightstand.

"It's Dave," he announced after reading the name on the small screen. Jo raised her eyebrows and hummed softly, noncommittally, before she relaxed again. Leroy answered the phone.

"Dave?" he greeted.

"Alex," David Rossi answered on the other end, and Leroy immediately noticed the slight strain in his voice. Rossi wasn't calling just to wish him good night. "I wake you?"

"No," Leroy replied. Rossi didn't say anything for a while, leaving a rather strained silence, and Leroy frowned, his worry increasing. He knew that he was perhaps overreacting, but he trusted his instincts when it came to Rossi. Especially since he had known him for almost thirty years. "Is something wrong?"

"Aaron." Rossi merely said, and Leroy couldn't quite decide if he was more annoyed or worried. Even though the fact that there was annoyance at all in the man's tone reassured him that nothing serious had happened, Leroy tensed.

"Is he hurt?" he asked. More than before, he could add perhaps, because nine stab wounds definitely counted as hurt, but Rossi would understand.

"No, nothing like that," Rossi quickly soothed him. "Tried his best, though."

At his sharp question about health, Jo had raised herself on her elbows and given him a questioning look, full of worry. At Rossi's reply he gave her a small shake of the head, and when she raised her eyebrows demandingly, wanting to know who they were talking about, he mouthed "Aaron" at her. She nodded her understanding and lay back down again though she made no attempt to really relax.

"Oh," Leroy replied out loud to Rossi, immediately understanding what Rossi meant. Aaron Hotchner, his long time friend's protégé and now also boss, had done something stupid and dangerous and consequently scared ten years off of Rossi's life. Figuratively, of course, because otherwise Rossi would be dead already; Hotch had had a reckless streak when he was younger. "How bad?"

"Pretty bad," Rossi said, "Went into a hostage situation without vest."

"Against your orders?" Leroy asked, before he remembered that Hotch was actually Rossi's superior these days. "Advice, I mean."

"He didn't ask."

Leroy made a sympathetic sound, perfectly understanding the hint of bitterness in his friend's voice. Hotch might no longer be an inexperienced kid, but Rossi had considerably _more_ experience and he was recognized as possibly _the_ main authority in the country on hostage negotiation. Besides, growing older didn't mean that he was somehow exempt from the common rule of courtesy of asking his mentor's opinion before doing something dangerous.

"That bad," he said in understanding. Rossi though, wasn't done.

"He blocked the shot, Alex!"

"But no-one got hurt?"

"I wouldn't be calling, then," Rossi replied, somewhat cryptically. Leroy raised an eyebrow, despite that Rossi couldn't see him.

"Why _are_ you calling?" he asked. He had thought that the man just wanted to talk; having someone listen to his complains about Hotch, but it appeared now that might not be the case.

"I want your advice," Rossi said.

"On what?"

Rossi was silent for a moment, maybe hesitating or maybe formulating his response. Leroy waited patiently, answering Jo's curious look with a shrug, saying he didn't know much himself.

"What should I do?" the man asked finally. Leroy frowned, somewhat confused. He would have assumed that Rossi had already punished Hotch, or at least that he was about to do so very soon, but Rossi's question seemed considerably more open-ended than being about in which way he should punish Hotch.

"What do you mean?" he asked instead of giving an answer.

"Should I punish him?"

"He risked his life, Dave," Leroy answered slowly, not sure where Rossi wanted to go with this. He knew, of course, that Rossi didn't like punishing Hotch, but that had never stopped him before.

Rossi sighed. "I know," he said.

"Then what's the problem?"

That was in fact a very good question, because risking his life was one of the things that Rossi always punished Hotch for, pretty much inconsiderate of circumstances, and even though Hotch was still recuperating after Foyet's attack that was no reason for Rossi to let this slide.

"He's not a kid," Rossi replied.

"So?" Leroy demanded. "That doesn't make him less susceptible to bullets."

"I _know_ ," Rossi snapped back. "But maybe it makes him less susceptible to spankings. I can't treat him like a kid forever."

"You can treat him in accordance to his actions!" Leroy retorted, his tone also snappish because, frankly, Rossi's sudden doubt exasperated him. Rossi cared deeply about the younger man, and he should focus on trying to keep him alive instead of trying to preserve his ego. "What does it matter that he is an adult if he dies?"

"I could just talk to him," Rossi offered, but it was obvious he wasn't really trying to convince anyone; jut delaying the inevitable acceptance of things as they were.

"Why are you suddenly so reluctant to punish him?" Leroy asked, ignoring Rossi's words, genuinely curious.

For a while he thought he wouldn't get an answer, but then Rossi sighed. "He needs to feel trusted," he said.

"He can't feel trusted if he's not alive."

"Is he gonna _want_ to live if he doesn't feel trusted?"

"Not feeling trusted you can fix," Leroy said gently, because obviously this was getting to his friend. "Dead; you can't."

Again, Rossi was silent for a moment. "And what if I reinforce his feelings of inadequacy by punishing him?"

"You won't," Leroy replied firmly, because this was something he was certain of. His own childhood had few similarities with Hotch's; they had both been more or less rejected, but it had been limited to that for Leroy and he knew that Hotch hadn't been that fortunate, but some of their experiences later in life had been. Like being punished by an authority figure as adults. And it had never made him feel anything but embarrassed that he had allowed himself to act in a way that made their boss want to treat him like that. "And you know it."

"Yeah," Rossi said slowly, dragging the word out. "Maybe. But we're not him, Alex."

Leroy frowned, but relented. Because not only did Rossi know Hotch better than he did, he was also a profiler. "Okay, so maybe it will make him feel like you don't trust him, and that'll make him feel… I don't know; inadequate? But he'll be alive. Besides, do you actually trust him?"

Rossi began to interrupt him, no doubt to say that he trusted Hotch very much, but Leroy stopped him. "Hear he out, first, eh? I know you trust him to do his best to protect you and your team, but do you trust him to protect himself? And do you trust him to be in a stable enough mental state that he can be trusted in the field?"

"I have to," Rossi replied firmly. Leroy hesitated for a moment, because the man sounded very determined. He was about to say something as Rossi continued. "His wife and son was taken away; he needs to know that the rest of his family is there for him. That we trust him."

Leroy was silent for a moment, because he did see his friend's point. Hotch had, despite Rossi's attempts to the opposite, built a lot of his self image on the fact that he was a competent FBI agent, and any threat to that might very well make him doubt his place in his family. Especially since he was used to being in command, used to being the one everyone could rely on.

"Dave…" he began, then paused in hesitation. "Trust doesn't mean anything if it's blind. I think it's enough if he knows that you love him and that you _want_ to trust him."

Jo had sat up sometimes during their conversation, and she now demandingly snapped her fingers, a somewhat annoyed frown on her face. Leroy raised his eyebrows in silent question but she simply shook her head and once again gestured for the phone.

"Jo wants to talk to you," Leroy said quickly to Rossi before he handed the phone over.

"Dave…" Jo began, sounding both affectionate and exasperated, "You love him. That's all that matters."

She then immediately handed the phone back to her husband. Leroy took it with an amused shake of the head.

"You heard the woman," he said, "Besides, even if you do screw things up, it'll work out."

"Well, that's comforting," Rossi retorted sarcastically, but he didn't sound truly annoyed anymore and Leroy concluded that they had managed to soothe his worries. They were silent for a moment.

"So, how are _you_?" Leroy then asked. That was just as big a concern to him as Hotch's well being, because although Rossi hadn't been assaulted by a madman, he had been summarily put in position of unit chief, therapist and father to a team of pretty messed up kids for a month, with no-one to help ease the burden except Jason Gideon who had too many of his own demons to be much help.

"Oh, you know," Rossi replied, "So and so. Tired."

"You should come visit; take your team with you and relax for a few days."

Rossi chuckled. "You really want your house full of agents? They're not exactly low profile, you know."

"Well, we still want to meet them," Leroy said with a smile, "Think about it."

"I will," Rossi promised. "Thanks."

"Anytime, Dave."


	3. Chapter 3

When Rossi entered the FBI building that morning he had almost managed to convince himself that the day would go by without him needing to play dad; that Aaron Hotchner would somehow have come to his senses and that there would be no need for him to follow through on his promise to Morgan. That what Hotch had done yesterday really had been just a momentary lapse of judgment and that a small lecture to make him realize that putting himself at risk wasn’t appreciated would be enough before Rossi could go back to being supportive of Hotch as a team leader and adult instead of acting the part of disapproving parent.

Those hopes, however, were crushed as soon as he reached the BAU bullpen.

What greeted him there was not, as it usually was, the team working or chatting quietly by their desks, Hotch in his office and Garcia sometimes there, sometimes not. Instead, he found the team being yelled at by their irate unit chief.

“You are not paid to fool around!” Hotch snapped. It seemed his words were directed at Reid and Garcia, who both guiltily stood by Reid’s desk looking up at Hotch. “This is supposed to be a work place!”

Rossi suspected Hotch was overreacting, both because he doubted Reid and Garcia could really have done anything to warrant such a tongue lashing that early in the morning and because of the protective stance Morgan had taken up next to Reid and the frown on Prentiss’ face.

“I know the both of you consider yourself exempt from the rules of mere mortals, but the truth is that you’re not,” Hotch continued and for a moment Morgan looked as if he would interrupt but a glare form Hotch stopped him. Even when the man was this out of control he had an air of authority that made it difficult for most people to go against him. “If you are unable to act like professional adults, you have no place on this team.”

Now Rossi was certain that Hotch was being unreasonable, and what was more; he was being downright mean. Before he had time to say anything more he would regret, or Morgan would do something he would regret, Rossi decided to make his presence known.

“Aaron,” he said and the younger man’s head immediately snapped up. For a moment a look of guilt passed over his face, but then it turned angry again. Apparently, Hotch wasn’t prepared to admit he was in the wrong just yet.

“You’re late,” Hotch said, trying but not quite managing to make his voice censuring. He probably knew very well that he was about to be punished, but as always he had to push just a bit further. And as always, it pissed Rossi off.

“Office.” he ordered tersely and seeing that Hotch was about to argue he raised his voice as he continued. “ _Now_ , Aaron.”

For a moment, it seemed that Hotch would keep up his defiance and Rossi briefly entertained the idea of spanking him right there and then, but fortunately for himself, Hotch relented and turned sharply and headed into his office, slamming the door shut. Rossi supposed he really should have clarified that he wanted Hotch in _his_ office, since it would give him the higher ground, but it didn’t really matter much.

Pulling himself from his thoughts he directed his attention to the rest of the team. Morgan was standing by Garcia, who was crying, and Reid seemed to be trying very hard not to do the same. For a moment Morgan looked up, meeting his eyes almost accusingly. He made a grimace and shrugged apologetically. It seemed that the younger man had been right about what Hotch needed, and Rossi supposed that if he had realized that yesterday this scene might have been prevented, but it was too late to change that now.

As he walked over to them, Rossi considered whether he should comfort the team first or confront Hotch. In a way, the team had priority since it was Hotch who was at fault, but he was unwilling to leave the man alone without knowing what was about to happen for too long. Garcia and Reid at least, had the rest of the team to take care of them until Rossi could talk to them. 

“You know he didn’t mean it,” he heard Morgan say, at the same time throwing accusing looks at Hotch’s office door.

“Morgan’s right,” Rossi agreed, and all four turned to look at him. He grimaced internally at how devastated Garcia and Reid both looked; the tech’s cheeks were lined with tears and Rossi could swear that Reid’s lower lip was trembling. He really should have talked to Hotch yesterday. He sighed. “He’s just lashing out, and you were available targets. He’ll regret it as soon as he calms down.”

“I know,” Garcia said, managing a small smile through her tears, “But I still don’t like it.”

Rossi smiled grimly. “Trust me, kitten,” he said, “Hotch will like it even less soon enough.”

He caught Morgan’s eye again when he’d said it, nodding almost imperceptibly to let him know that he planned on following his advice; quite thoroughly, in fact.

“I’ll talk to you guys later, okay?” he said gently to Garcia and Reid. Technically, he supposed he could let Morgan, Emily and JJ comfort them, but he felt responsible for letting Hotch get this far out of control and it was his job to do manage control. As he left, he instinctively pressed a quick kiss to the top of Garcia’s head and patted Reid’s shoulder, sensing that they both needed the reassurance. Hell, Reid probably needed a lot more than a pat on the shoulder, but there was time for that later.

Steeling himself for the coming confrontation, he then climbed the stairs and entered Hotch’s office, closing the blinds as he entered.

The younger man was pacing, his lips pressed hard together and his fists clenched tightly. He spun around as Rossi entered, and the expression on his face pained Rossi. Hotch was angry; that much was obvious, but there was confusion and pain in his eyes as well. The paleness of his skin and the bluish bags under his eyes only made his distress more obvious.

“Rossi,” he snapped, and Rossi had to stop himself from flinching at the vehemence in his tone. Telling himself that it wasn’t really directed at him helped.

“Aaron,” he shot back, “I wouldn’t push it if I were you.”

Hotch’s face colored at the sharp reprimand but he didn’t back down, so before he had time to dig himself an even deeper hole Rossi continued.

“This is what you’ll do; go to my cabin, find an empty corner to plant your nose in and wait for me to come home.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Hotch snorted derisively and glared at Rossi. “Do you really think I will do that?” he asked. Rossi raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I do,” he said, “Unless you want a spanking right now and then spend the morning in the corner of this office before I take you home and spank you again.”

Rossi really thought that would make the younger man see sense, because by now Hotch should know he didn’t make empty threats and he doubted Hotch wanted the embarrassment of being spanked in hearing range of the team. But it seemed as if Hotch was intent on pushing Rossi as far as he possibly could. To be entirely honest, it made Rossi regret his hastily made promise slightly; he had no wish to humiliate Hotch. But he kept his promises.

“You’re out of line, Dave,” the younger man stated calmly, glaring at Rossi with a frown on his face. You had to admire the guts of the man, Rossi supposed, but that didn’t really help his case.

“No, Aaron,” he said, “ _You_ are out of line. Last chance.”

Rossi had lost count of how many times he had said those two exact words to the man in front of him, and almost every time Hotch failed to heed the warning. It still surprised him, though; that the man lacked self-preservative instinct to such an extent that he _still_ didn’t realize what those words meant.

“Get out,” Hotch said coldly. Rossi sighed; it seemed that today was no different. With a few steps he closed the distance between himself and Hotch and took the man’s arm in a firm hold. Normally, he’d push Hotch down over a piece of furniture at this point but the still healing wounds made that risky when Hotch was so upset, so he settled for turning him sideways, confident that the younger man wouldn’t fight him. Hotch usually argued with him, verbally defended himself against the coming punishment, but he never really tried to fight him physically.

Closing his eyes and steeling himself for what he was about to do, Rossi brought his hand down on Hotch’s backside with enough force for it to sting quite a bit. He felt Hotch tense, and as always the worry that he was damaging the younger man flared up, but he quickly forced it down. He knew, intellectually, that Hotch understood what he was doing, and that was enough.

He gave Hotch five more, hard swats before letting go of his arm. Hotch immediately pulled away from Rossi and turned to glare at him, though the power of his glare was weakened considerably by the blush on his cheeks. Rossi didn’t give him time to say anything; figuring that it would probably bring nothing good for either of them.

“Now, corner,” he ordered, “and while you’re there, you will think about the fact that there are people who give a damn about you and why that puts certain restrictions on your behavior!”

Hotch bit his lip at that, and his glare changed from being angry and defiant to being almost sulkily accusing. Not that Hotch would ever really sulk, but this was as close as he got. Rossi raised his eyebrows, silently daring him to argue. The younger man didn't. His compliance was a welcome almost surprise, and his lack of true anger reassured Rossi that he was in fact doing the right thing.

Leroy had probably been right; it was more important that Hotch knew that there were people who cared enough to call him on his actions than that he knew that people trusted his abilities as a team leader. Because despite what Hotch might fear, Rossi’s care for him had nothing to do with his competency as an agent, and even if it was going to take another ten years to get it through the man’s thick skull Rossi would keep trying.

And to do that he needed Hotch alive.


	4. Chapter 4

Intellectually, Reid knew that Hotch wasn’t really angry with him. He knew that his boss’s words were born from frustration, self-contempt and probably pain.

But knowing this didn’t mean that the words hadn’t hurt.

Also, he couldn’t shake the small feeling of guilt nagging at his conscience; it was partly his fault that Hotch had even had cause to become that angry. He knew that the man was on edge, and he should have been more careful not to give him reason to lose his already frayed temper. Especially since it had obviously made Rossi angry with Hotch, and Reid knew from experience that the Italian man was quite adept at doling out lectures that made at least him feel like a ten-year old. And Hotch didn’t deserve that, not really.

Rossi’s promise to talk to him also made him feel slightly apprehensive. Morgan had assured him that the man just wanted to make sure that Reid was okay, and that he was in no way angry with Reid, but Reid sort of doubted that. Hotch didn’t need any extra stress, Reid had given him that, and at the moment Rossi was almost protective of Hotch.

He clang on to a small hope that Rossi wouldn’t find him and just forget the whole talk thing, since Reid had left the bullpen as soon as Rossi was in Hotch’s office. He didn’t want to hear Rossi yelling at Hotch; it would feel far too strange. That hope, however, soon disappeared.

“Hi, kid,” he heard Rossi from behind. He supposed it shouldn’t surprise him really; how fast the older man had found him, since he _was_ one of the best profilers in the world and he had made no real attempt to hide, but it was a bit uncomfortable that the man could predict him almost as well as Gideon could. Reid turned and offered the older man a strained smile.

“Agent Rossi,” he said, falling back on formality, “How’s Hotch?”

“How’re _you_?” Rossi said instead of an answer. Reid shrugged.

“I’m okay,” he said. Rossi raised his eyebrows and took a seat next to Reid.

“Sure you are,” he replied, “Your friend just said awful things to you and you’re totally okay. Of course.”

Reid blushed slightly and looked down at his hands. “Okay, maybe I’m not completely okay,” he conceded. “But he didn’t mean what he said, right?”

It wasn’t only an attempt to convince Rossi to leave him alone; it was also a plea for reassurance that Hotch really hadn’t meant it.

“Of course he didn’t,” Rossi replied dismissively. “But he said them, Reid. It’s okay to be angry and hurt.”

Reid bit his lip and nodded slightly, to his embarrassment feeling his eyes filling with tears. Because it did hurt. Partly because he felt that Hotch had a point. When Hotch most needed them to be calm and professional, he goofed off and caused the man to lose him temper. Didn’t that mean that he really had no place on the team? He knew that Gideon had bent the rules to get him in, because of his supposed genius. But if he couldn’t even act like an adult when Hotch most needed him to, maybe Gideon had made a mistake.

“I know,” he muttered, and he hoped that Rossi would leave it at that. But of course, the older man didn’t.

“Hey,” Rossi prompted him gently, tilting his head and frowning, “I know that tone. You’re feeling guilty.”

Reid turned to look at Rossi with glassy eyes, his lower lip trembling slightly. “I made him angry,” he said.

“ _Foyet_ made him angry,” Rossi corrected. “You were just there to lash out at. What he said… was complete bullshit. You really think I’d work with you if you weren’t a good agent?”

That was actually somewhat comforting, because there was no denying that what Rossi said had some merit. The older man had little regard for academic accomplishments, and Reid had little doubt that he would not be tolerated on basis of his PhDs alone, so obviously Rossi considered him a somewhat competent agent. Or Hotch had asked him to tolerate the freaky kid, and Rossi did it as a favor to Hotch.

“If Hotch asked you to,” he said. Rossi snorted.

“For a week, maybe,” he replied, “Besides, you think _Hotch_ would let you work here if he really thought you didn’t belong in the Bureau?”

“He would if Gideon asked him.”

To his surprise the answer to that was a cuff on the head.

“Stop it,” Rossi ordered, “You’re being ridiculous, and I happen to know that Jason has a rule for you about beating yourself down.”

Reid turned to look at Rossi, frowning. “I’m not,” he protested, not caring that he was whining, “I’m analyzing the situation.”

“No, you aren’t,” Rossi retorted, “You’re being a silly little boy.”

A blush made its way up Reid’s face, and he looked down at his hands in his lap.

“Am not,” he mumbled, almost too low for Rossi to be able to hear it. Rossi frowned in response.

“Reid,” he said warningly. “I’m serious. Stop beating yourself up about this; Hotch was being a jerk. That’s all there was to what he said.”

Swiping a hand over his eyes, Reid nodded, and tried to fight the new bout of tears that wanted to spring out. He wasn’t sure why he cried; it wasn’t as if what Hotch had said had been _cruel,_ really. People had said much, much worse to him without him shedding any tears over it, and yet here he was sniffling in front of David Rossi. But hearing Hotch say those things hurt, damn it, and besides his knee was throbbing painfully and it had prevented him from getting much sleep the night before. Feeling his lower lip tremble, he turned to Rossi; childishly hoping that the older man would make things better.

Reid wasn’t very surprised when he was pulled into a hug. Gideon, Hotch and Morgan all hugged him sometimes, but it was obvious that Rossi was a lot more comfortable with physical contact.

“I think you should take the rest of the day off,” Rossi told him after a moment, obviously not really making a suggestion, “I’ll call Jason to come and pick you up. He’s still in town, right?”

“Yeah,” Reid replied, “but you really don’t need to…”

Rossi interrupted him with a wave of the hand and a shrug. “It’s better if you’re not alone and I’ve got Garcia and Aaron to talk to.”

“I could take the metro,” Reid said. It wasn’t that he really minded the idea of Gideon picking him up that much; it was just that he didn’t want to appear childish in front of Rossi, and having your… well, father-figure come pick you up because someone was mean to definitely qualified as childish.

“You could,” Rossi agreed easily, but without conviction. “Go wash your face.”

Reid obeyed the order, because there was really nothing else to do. He could have argued, he supposed, but Rossi already has his phone out, so he obeyed with a sigh. Luckily he met no-one on the short walk to the bathroom and after splashing his face with water and pushing a hand through his hair he returned to Rossi, who was still on the phone.

“Yeah, Jason,” he was saying, his voice mockingly sarcastic, “I got tired of his blubbering so I threw him out a window. What d’ya think?! I told him that Hotch was just being a jerk.”

As Reid entered the small conference room again Rossi looked up and rolled his eyes in exasperation. Reid grinned at the familiar gesture; one that often occurred whenever Rossi was speaking to Gideon. Frankly, it was surprising that the BAU had managed to survive its fledgling years with the two of them being put together in close quarters, especially since they had, according to Hotch, been worse back then.

“Uh-huh,” Rossi said again after a moment of silence, listening to Gideon on the other end, “Of course I’ll talk to Hotch. Why d’you think I’m calling you to pick up Reid?”

With an impatient gesture Rossi ordered Reid to follow him and they left the room, making their way to the elevator, Rossi still listening to something Gideon was saying.

“Maybe,” he said, “Depends on how things play out.” There was a pause. “Yeah, sure. Call you tonight. Oh, and there’s something the kid wants to tell you.”

Rossi hung up with that and slipped the phone back into his pocket, shaking his head. “Don’t know how you stand him…” he muttered. Reid didn’t reply, choosing to demonstrate his disapproval of Rossi telling on him by frigid silence. It didn’t work very well. “What’s up?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Reid said angrily, glaring at Rossi. “and now Gideon will think I did.”

“Well, I hate to break it you, but you sort of did, in Jason’s view. You were beating yourself up over nothing.”

Reid didn’t answer, because Rossi was right. Gideon _had_ made that stupid rule about not being self-deprecating and he stuck to it; often more strictly than Reid thought was entirely reasonable.

“Why did you tell him if you don’t agree?”

 “’Cause I don’t wanna hear him bitching about consistency and stability and whatnot,” Rossi replied with a smirk. The older man was probably, Reid reflected, the only one who would think of referring to Gideon’s lectures as “bitching”, and it was still an amusing novelty to Reid. “Besides, I didn’t say I didn’t agree.”

That made Reid frown, or pout, depending on who you asked. Why was everyone so intent on treating him like a child, even dictating what he was allowed to think of himself? Rossi looked at him curiously, but didn’t say anything. Reid, who had been hoping to be allowed to express his grievance once the man asked was wrong, frowned even deeper.

“It’s not fair,” he blurted after a moment, no longer able to keep silent. That was, he was often told, one of his biggest failings; the inability to be quiet. Rossi quirked an eyebrow in silent question, looking rather amused. Reid blushed but didn’t say anything more; not knowing how to phrase his annoyance without sounding ridiculous, and already regretting saying anything in the first place.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Rossi said, “I pretty much apply that rule to everyone. I’m sure you know that our cognitive patterns have great impact on our perception of self.”

Reid nodded, perking up slightly. “Yeah, it’s been shown in studies that therapies with heavy to very heavy focus on changing distorted cognitive patterns into functional ones are forty-two percent more likely than others to give a long-lasting effect on patients suffering from clinical depression.”

“Mm-hmm.”

In the beginning of knowing the older man Reid had been slightly hurt by his apparent disinterested in Reid’s recital of statistics; he knew it wasn’t something that fitted into normal conversations, but he liked to think that his facts were at least somewhat useful during cases. And Rossi had acted as if they were more of a disturbance than anything else. But he’d learnt that it was simply Rossi’s way of being, and now he took the small acknowledging noises the man made whenever he was rambling more as a sign that Rossi was trying to be nice rather than as proof he wasn’t really listening.

Before there was time to say anything else they had reached the exit, and Reid blushed as he realized that Rossi had actually walked him to the door, as if he wanted to check that Gideon was actually there to pick him up safely. Sometimes it sucked being the youngest.

“See you tomorrow,” Rossi said as he left Reid to leave the building. Reid guessed he should be grateful he wasn’t actually walked to the car. “Tell Jason I said hello.”

Reid nodded and waved a small goodbye, smiling. To be honest he was happy that Gideon was coming; Rossi might be a great guy, but no-one could make things better in the same way Gideon could. Even after Gideon had left, leaving nothing but that stupid note, and been the cause of Reid’s misery for quite a few months, he’d missed him, and when the man had returned he’d been unable to decide whether he wanted to punch him or be hugged by him. Gideon always made him feel better, comforted him. And although he was more or less certain that Hotch really had been just lashing out, he wanted someone to comfort him.


	5. Chapter 5

Penelope Garcia knew that she was, by far, the team-member most prone to showing emotion. It normally didn’t bother her; if anything she hoped that it would encourage the rest of the team to come out of their emotional shells as well. In her childhood she had been encouraged to be open about what she felt, and she believed that it had helped her through the loss of her parents and her job here at the BAU, so she wanted the same for her family. She just couldn’t imagine never talking about the things they saw.

But right now she wished that she wasn’t so easily brought to tears. Because if she had been able to keep a calm façade, just accepting the hurtful comments Hotch had made without showing any signs of how much they hurt, she would have been able to pretend that the man had said the things he had because he hadn’t realized how hurtful they really were. But since Hotch’s words had made her cry, and he still had continued, she found it difficult to use that as an excuse for him.

And she didn’t really want to be angry with Hotch; he was already so hurt that she felt guilty about wanting to do anything but hug him. And right now she sort of wanted to throttle him, because he had not only hurt her but also her little baby genius and that just wasn’t allowed. If she hadn’t noticed just how grim Rossi looked as he went up to speak to Hotch she wouldn’t have bothered stopping Morgan from going and up there himself. In fact, she probably wouldn’t have stopped him from doing so after Rossi was done if it wasn’t for the fact that they’d all quite clearly heard the sound of six hard swats; no doubt to their poor boss-man’s backside.

The sound had turned all three pair of eyes to the office. They’d all known, of course, that Rossi was to Hotch what Gideon was to Reid and that the older man had disciplined the other, but it was a completely different thing hearing it. She thought Emily actually blushed, and Morgan looked very disturbed for a moment.

Then Rossi had exited the office and they had all attempted to look as if though they hadn’t just been listening to what had happened in the office, something that seemed to amuse Rossi immensely.

“He’ll live,” he announced dramatically as he walked down into the bullpen, drawing a somewhat chagrined smile from Emily and an eye-roll from Morgan. He then glanced around the bullpen, somewhat curiously, and raised his eyebrows. “Reid’s not here?”

Morgan replied with a shrug, because they really didn’t know where Reid had gone off. “Hmm!” Rossi merely said at that, with a small shrug of his own, “Well, I’ll better go look, then.” He turned to Garcia. “I’ll come talk you later, okay?”

Garcia nodded, swiping again at her eyes. Rossi left them and after a brief look up at Hotch’s office Emily shook her head.

“I can’t believe Rossi actually did that to Hotch,” she said. Garcia nodded in agreement. It was pretty hard to picture their unit chief being swatted like a naughty child.

“C’mon, guys,” Morgan said, “Like you didn’t know.”

Emily frowned, glaring at Morgan. “Of course I did,” she said, “but it’s not like I’ve really thought about it. Doesn’t it freak you guys out?”

Morgan looked as if he was about to snap back some witty retort, but then he seemed to remember that Garcia had been crying just a few moments ago, so he turned to her with a concerned frown.

“You _know_ he didn’t mean it, right baby girl?”

Garcia nodded. “Sure, gorgeous,” she said, “but I’m still angry.”

“I might just punch him for you…” Morgan muttered, throwing a glare at Hotch’s office. Garcia smiled.

“Aw… I know, my chocolate knight in Kevlar armor,” she said, “but I think what Rossi’s gonna do will have more of an impact.”

Morgan seemed to consider for a moment, looking up at the office, before he shrugged. “You’re probably right,” he said and Garcia nodded.

“Aren’t I always?” she quipped.

She was trying to bring back the careless smile to Morgan’s face; she didn’t like seeing him this grim. She understood his anger, but he could at least let it go until Rossi was done. Morgan seemed to realize that she was uncomfortable with how angry he looked, so he gave her a small and rather unconvincing grin. With a small smile of her own she punched him lightly on the arm.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, “and so will Reid and Hotch. Rossi will handle it.”

Morgan looked dubious for a moment, but then he nodded. “I guess,” he said, “But you didn’t _do_ anything. I mean, I would have got it if he lost if over something real, but you were just talking!”

Prentiss nodded slowly in agreement. “I don’t get it either,” she said.

“Well, neither do I,” Garcia said, trying to sound cheerful, “But now, my beauties, I must depart. Tell Rossi I’m with my babies.”

It wasn’t a very sophisticated escape, but right now Garcia needed to be alone for a little while, to gather her thoughts. She wasn’t really uncomfortable with crying in front of Emily and Morgan, but she was uncomfortable showing just how angry she was at Hotch. And she _was_ angry. She wanted to hack Hotch’s computer and give him ten different viruses and she wanted to yell a little, but knowing that would only make Morgan angrier and she really didn’t want him and the unit chief fighting. Instead, she’d save her anger for Rossi and make sure he _discussed_ things quite thoroughly with Hotch.

Feeling that she had earned some downtime, she quickly opened up a simple but entertaining browser game that would keep her occupied for at least half an hour or so. It turned out she didn’t need that long; after twenty minutes there was a soft knock on her door.

“Enter or remain in ignorance forever!” she called out and Rossi entered with a small smile. 

“Hey,” he greeted her, “How’re you holding up?”

She spun around on her chair, donning a very serious look, and gave Rossi a sincere look.

“I’m angry,” she said, “He shouldn’t have said those things.”

“Damn right he shouldn’t,” Rossi agreed. “But you do know he didn’t mean them?”

With a tearful smile, Garcia nodded. “I know,” she said, “Does Reid?”

Rossi shrugged and took a seat next to her. “He will. I had Jason come pick him up; he’ll sort him out.”

The sat in silence for a while, Rossi studying Garcia’s many monitors with a curios and somewhat confused expression and Garcia just staring despondently.

“How are you really?” Rossi asked again. Garcia sighed deeply.

“It just hurts,” she whispered, “He _knew_ what he was saying, and he said it anyways!”

Rossi leant closer, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. The older man really was a big softie, Garcia thought, no matter how much he sometimes acted like he didn’t care. After she had been shot she had been really upset when he shouted at her, but she’d realized that it had really been in her best interest; in a weird, very David Rossi kind of way. And he had showed up with a bouquet of flowers afterwards, apologizing for any distress he had caused her, which was very sweet. And that had been only in the beginning of his working with the team; since then he had demonstrated his caring many times. She still had pictures of the time he had bought Reid ice cream.

 “He said it because it hurt,” Rossi said gently. “He’s experiencing feelings of guilt and self-contempt and he’s reacting to them in a perfectly natural way. He can only take out his anger on himself to a certain degree, so he redirects it. Displacement, you know?”

Oftentimes, Garcia hated working with profilers. They could tell when she was hiding something, they were snoopy and they had no sense of privacy. Right now though, she was grateful for it, because hearing the reasons for her boss’s anger made her own die down a bit, and she hated being angry. It also softened the hurt, knowing that Hotch hadn’t really been speaking to _her_ , really. But it also increased her concern exponentially, because self-contempt sounded really, really bad.

“Is he gonna be okay?” she asked. Rossi frowned for a moment.

“Kitten,” he said, and Garcia hid a smile at the use of his new nickname for her. “You can be angry even if what he did stems from a trauma. He’s an adult, and a profiler at that, and he knows how to deal with his emotions in a non-destructive manner. Feeling like shit doesn’t give anyone the right to be a jerk, and he knows it.”

“Do you _want_ me to be angry with him?” Garcia asked, honestly a bit surprised. She would have thought that Rossi would be eager to have her forgive his favorite unit chief, but apparently he was intent on bringing down Garcia’s wrath on him. Rossi shrugged.

“Well, yeah,” he said, “Denying emotions is death to any kind of relationship. Trust me, I know.”

“Okay,” Garcia agreed happily after a moment of considering this. “Can I hack his computer and give him an FAT virus?”

“Eh…” Rossi said, looking very confused and a bit apprehensive. “Is it legal?”

Garcia didn’t answer; merely kept grinning mischievously. Of course, she didn’t really have any intention of destroying her boss’s cyber life. She wasn’t that angry, and she had a feeling that if Rossi realized just how destructive what she had suggested was he would forbid her from doing it.

 “Hotch _is_ gonna be okay, right?” she asked again after a moment of silence. She might be angry with the man, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t concerned.

“Probably,” Rossi replied, “The after effects of a trauma as severe as his are unpredictable. I tried getting him to a shrink, but you can guess how that went down.”

He was silent for a moment, and something in his eyes stopped Garcia from interrupting him. He obviously had more to say.

“To be honest,” he continued, “We’re all more or less traumatized. You learn to deal or you break. And Hotch… well, he’s been through more than anyone should have to in a lifetime in the last few years and Foyet’s attack was just the final straw, I guess.”

Again, the room was silent for a moment, except for the quiet humming from the computers.

“Do you ever consider how much nightmare fuel anyone of us has in our minds?”

For a moment longer Rossi kept staring sadly straight ahead, obviously not seeing the room but images he would rather forget, but then he seemed to realize where he was and who he was talking to and pulled himself out of his reverie, giving Garcia a small smile.

“But I think he’ll be okay,” he said, “He’s strong, and he has a strong support system.”

“And he has you, Agent Awesome,” Garcia said with a big smile. Rossi smiled drily, and leant back in the chair.

“Yeah, but I don’t think he’s gonna appreciate that much in a few hours,” he said.

Garcia nodded, in complete agreement with the man’s assessment; soon enough Hotch would very much wish that he didn’t have Rossi _quite_ that much.


	6. Chapter 6

Hotch was still in the corner of his office when Rossi returned, obediently facing the walls and hopefully thinking about what he had been told. Rossi intended to take him home immediately, seeing no point in prolonging the inevitable, but then he realized that the younger man was crying, his shoulder hunched together and shaking slightly and his hands balled into tight, tight fists at his sides and immediately most of his anger died down.

He hurried up to Hotch, turned the man around with a gentle hand on his shoulder and pulled Hotch into a tight embrace, before he would have time to argue or become too embarrassed to accept it. He wasn’t sure what had upset the younger man to warrant this kind of reaction; he knew Hotch was high strung to say the least, but normally it took a lot more than being put in a corner and being ordered to reflect on his behavior to make the man do anything more than bat an eye. Hotch was a wonder of emotional restraint, and even around Rossi he was normally uncomfortable displaying too much vulnerability. Considering the man’s recent trauma, emotional upheaval was pretty much inevitable, but something had obviously set it off and suddenly Rossi regretted leaving Hotch alone.

Rossi’s worry increased as Hotch didn’t just passively accept the embrace or hug him back somewhat awkwardly as he normally did; instead he immediately wrapped his arms tightly around Rossi as if he was afraid the older man would leave if he didn’t cling onto him. For a moment Rossi was too surprised to respond, but then he tightened his own hold slightly to let the younger man know that he had no intention of leaving anytime soon, ignoring the pain of Hotch’s too tight hold.

Doing the only thing he could think of, Rossi rubbed Hotch’s back and began mumbling soothingly.

“Shh… everything will be all right,” he muttered, then continued in Italian, copying the phrases his mother had used to calm him down as a child, “Andrà tutto bene...”

Maybe it was stupid thinking that Italian would somehow have the same calming effect on Hotch as it had always had on Rossi when he was a child, since the man’s connection to the language consisted solely of him to his knowledge, but Rossi couldn’t help but think that the language of his childhood home was much better for expressing emotion than English was, including comforting.

It seemed to calm Hotch down, whether it was because of the Italian or not, and soon enough the man’s hold on him loosened. Rossi didn’t loosen his hold, however, knowing that Hotch as a rule needed to be comforted long after he claimed he was fine.

“What’s wrong?” he asked at last, not letting go of the younger man.

“I’m an idiot,” Hotch muttered in reply, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

“Why do you say that?” Rossi inquired, deciding not to go with any of the “we already know that”-lines that would have fitted so well, figuring that Hotch was already upset enough.

“I pushed them away,” Hotch confessed, sounding completely miserable. “I’ve managed to lose both my families...”

Rossi interrupted him with a swat to his behind, with a lot less force than he would normally use. “You haven’t lost _any_ family,” he said, “Jack and Haley might be out of your reach for now, but we’ll get Foyet soon and you can see them again and as for the team... You really think you can push them away with a few insults?”

“I made them cry, Dave,” Hotch argued, and Rossi hated the broken quality of his voice, the way it sounded as if getting the words out pained him tremendously.

“You did.” Rossi agreed, ignoring that Hotch tensed when he confirmed what he had said, “But do you really think that matters?”

Hotch didn’t reply, and for a moment Rossi was prepared to let him remain in his embrace silently, thinking that perhaps the physical contact was enough to calm him down. But when Hotch’s subdued crying continued, and his fists once again clenched into Rossi’s back, a clear sign he was trying to fight back emotion, he realized that it wouldn’t do. He sighed.

“What did I tell you to think about?” he questioned calmly. Hotch didn’t answer, and after a moment Rossi prompted him again. “Aaron?”

“I really fucked up,” the younger man muttered instead of answering. “She was _crying_ , Dave!”

The way Hotch sounded as if he was trying to make an important point, trying to make Rossi understand just how much he deserved to be feeling this bad, made Rossi want to console him, reassure him that things were going to be all right and keep holding him tightly until he realized how wrong he was, but he forced himself to realize that right now sternness would be better for the younger man.

“That’s not what I asked,” he said.

“They rely me on me,” Hotch continued, again ignoring Rossi’s words. Losing his patience, Rossi loosened his hold on the man and took a step back, his hands on Hotch’s shoulder.

“Look at me,” he ordered and when Hotch showed no signs of obeying he grabbed him by the chin and forced him to meet his eyes. “What did I tell you to think about?”

For a moment Hotch looked as if he would ignore the question a third time, his eyes full of guilt and unwillingness to let go of his self-blaming rant, but then he seemed to realize that it was Rossi he was talking to, and just what Rossi’s methods of making him talk when he didn’t want to were.

“That…” he began, only to be stopped by the fact that his throat seemed to constrict if the almost painful gasp he gave was anything to go by, “That there are people who care about me.”

Rossi nodded encouragingly, not letting go of the younger man’s face. “And..?”

“That it puts restrictions on my behavior,” Hotch said, closing his eyes. Rossi didn’t berate him for it, realizing that the man needed some sort of defense against the too emotional situation. Hotch didn’t deal well with too strong emotions. It was true that he could function under extraordinary levels of stress, or pain, grief or any other emotions that would have most people hide under the covers of their bed, by simply ignoring and pushing away the feelings. This unfortunately meant that when the feelings were too strong for him to ignore, he often found himself at a loss for what to do. It had been worse when he had been younger, and Rossi liked to think that he had played at least some part in teaching the younger man deal with emotions.

“And did you?” he asked, “Think about it?”

Still with his eyes closed, Hotch shook his head. Normally, he’d be annoyed by that admission, but as it were the man was too upset for Rossi to feel much anything beyond concern. But that didn’t mean he could let it go.

“Why not?”

Hotch turned tearful eyes on him, and drew a shuddering breath. “I don’t know,” he replied, trying but failing to sound dismissive of the question. Rossi raised his eyebrows.

“Aaron,” he said warningly. Hotch kept looking at him for a moment, before he closed his eyes and pulled out of Rossi’s hold.

“It isn’t true,” he whispered. Rossi frowned, uncertain how to tackle this new development. He had been sure that Hotch knew that he was cared about, but now it seemed as if there was still doubt in his mind. Feeling something bordering on desperation, Rossi used what he knew was a rather underhand technique.

“Son…” he said, “Do you really think that?”

It wasn’t a term he often used with the younger man, mostly because it was true enough to be somewhat awkward. He could use it unthinkingly with young witnesses that needed to be calmed down or comforted, because then it was completely without deeper meaning. But with Hotch… Rossi had never had a child, but he was pretty certain that was he felt toward the younger man was something very close to paternal and they were both aware of it, though they rarely spoke of it. And whenever he did, Hotch always seemed to lose some of his iron grip on his emotions.

Hotch’s head snapped up briefly at Rossi’s words and he gave him a wide-eyed look that made him seem considerably younger than he was, but then he lowered his eyes again, closing them and biting his lip. He shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“You think I’m lying?” Rossi challenged, making sure his voice was hard and demanding instead of the soft reassurance he wanted to make it. Hotch grimaced, looking pained, but didn’t look up. “Well?”

Hotch still didn’t answer, instead looking away and hiding his face with one of his hands as he tended to do whenever he was pushed into a corner, his eyes filled with tears. Rossi, feeling for the younger man but intent on getting him out of his self-recrimination, grabbed his wrist and uncovered his face.

“I want an answer, Aaron,” he demanded, and getting no immediate response he kept pushing. “You calling me a liar?”

“No,” Hotch ground out, apparently seeing the foolishness of not refuting that statement.

“Then what?” Rossi continued, “If I’m not lying, that means we care, yes?”

“No!” Hotch snapped back angrily, twisting to get out of Rossi’s grasp on his wrist, but then the words seemed to register probably and he frowned, apparently at a loss for what to say. “Well… yes. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

It was possible that he was pushing too hard, Rossi supposed, but he really didn’t think simple reassurances were going to cut it this time. Sometimes Hotch needed to be called on his illogical tendency to always blame himself, and though Rossi usually felt like a jerk whenever he yelled at the man who was already looking so miserable, it was in his own best interest. That didn’t really make it any easier, though; to be hard and cold instead of holding the younger man tight and trying to make everything go away.

“Maybe you’re mistaken,” Hotch said quietly, not looking at Rossi and barely moving his lips, making it hard to catch the words. Rossi held back a snort, because the last thing Hotch needed was to be further antagonized, but he did shake his head disbelievingly. And Gideon thought Reid had trust issues.

“Aaron, I’m a profiler, for God’s sake,” he said, “I’m pretty sure I can tell when I care about someone, and I’m pretty sure I can tell when others do as well, and trust me, we _all_ care about you. You’re family, Aaron, for all of us, and that’s not going to change because you make a mistake.”

He let go off Hotch’s wrist after that and took a step back, hoping he had made some sort of impression on the younger man. As Hotch looked up at him, hesitantly as if afraid of what he might see, he spread his arms, silently inviting the man into an embrace. His eyes still tear-filled, Hotch looked uncertain for a while, face set into a frown, before he tentatively stepped forward into Rossi’s arms.

“I messed up,” he muttered again, after he had been enfolded in Rossi’s embrace and his head was resting on the older man’s shoulder, but this time his voice wasn’t so full of self-contempt that it almost made Rossi flinch.

“Yeah, you did,” Rossi agreed once again, “And you’ll be punished for it, but then things will be all right. Understood?”

He felt Hotch nod slowly. “You aren’t perfect, Aaron,” Rossi continued softly, “and no-one expects you to be.”

He got no other answer than a small grunt, and he realized that Hotch wasn’t really listening; at least not listening enough for what he wanted to tell him. So with a suppressed sigh he merely tightened his hold somewhat, prepared to wait until Hotch was past the worst of his emotions.  


	7. Chapter 7

Sometimes Gideon really felt like the parent of a small child. When Reid fell asleep while watching TV, when he fussed about eating what was on his plate, when he more or less threw tantrums, when he got excited about some new magic trick. When Gideon was called up in the middle of an interesting documentary by David Rossi and told to come and pick “his kid” up at the BAU, since apparently Hotch had said something that upset him.

Not that Gideon really minded. These days Reid was the main occupation in his life, because there was little else that mattered to him, and he liked spending his days not travelling with the young man, even if the cause was that something had upset him. And he suspected that Reid had to be quite upset at the moment, because otherwise Rossi was unlikely to call him. Not that Rossi distrusted him or disliked him, though that seemed to be a pretty commonly held belief, but because despite what he often felt Reid wasn’t a small child, and he didn’t need Gideon to run to his rescue as soon as he didn’t feel a hundred percent.

And Rossi liked to remind him of this, which was really rather hypocritical of the man because he did not only treat Reid as a child himself, he also occasionally slipped into his old habit of treating Hotch like a kid, something Gideon at least couldn’t be accused of.

When Gideon pulled up in front of the FBI building Reid was already there, waiting with his satchel bag over his shoulder. The kid entered the car and buckled his seat belt without saying anything, and refusing to look at Gideon. It seemed that he was in a bad mood.

Gideon too remained silent, hoping that the quiet of the car would prompt Reid to start speaking. Because if there was one thing the kid had difficulty handling it was silence. And sure enough, within a few minutes Reid broke the quiet, still without looking at Gideon.

“Rossi thinks I broke one of your rules,” he blurted out. Gideon took his eyes of the road for a moment to throw a look at the kid. So that was what Rossi’s final comment had been about.

“Mm-hmm,” he said, prompting. A small pout appeared on Reid’s face and he burrowed deeper down into the seat, still looking out the window.

“I didn’t really, though,” he said, “I was just discussing possibilities and evaluating my place in the world which is really quite reasonable and it’s not something you can punish me for!”

At the end of his small rant Reid was looking really upset, and inches away from stomping his foot, to be honest, and Gideon immediately realized that the kid _had_ broken a rule. He also realized that Reid was probably hurting, emotionally and physically, and that he was tired and that all of this made him what in a child would be called cranky.

“Mm-hmm,” Gideon repeated, which earned him a glare from Reid who seemed to want some sort of response to his words.

“And I’m not silly!”

Gideon frowned in confusion. “Never said you were,” he soothed, but it didn’t seem to calm Reid down.

“ _Rossi_ did,” he muttered angrily, infusing the name with as much vehemence as he could muster. Gideon gave him a stern glance, because even though Gideon was the first to admit that David Rossi could be an annoying bastard, Reid shouldn’t be speaking that way about a superior. Reid sighed in reply to the censuring glare. “It’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?” Gideon inquired mildly.

“That you want to punish me for thinking critically!”

The kid’s voice was shrill and upset, and Gideon had a feeling that unless he wanted a full blown argument with him, he would have to calm Reid down quickly.

“Calm down, Spencer,” he ordered, “I never said I want to punish you; I don’t even know if you’ve done anything wrong.”

That silenced Reid, and for a while there was no sound except the car’s engine.

“Dave told me what Hotch said,” Gideon said after a moment. Reid sighed deeply, and his lower lip began trembling. Gone from annoyed and high-strung to downcast in a moment.

“He didn’t mean it,” Reid mumbled, but he didn’t sound convinced and Gideon felt a flare of anger at the unit chief. He knew Hotch was hurting, but that didn’t mean he was allowed to hurt Reid. Which was why he had demanded that Rossi let him speak to Hotch, so that he could say some choice words to the younger man. Rossi, though, had merely replied evasively and Gideon had a feeling that he wouldn’t be let anywhere near Hotch for a day or two.

“Exactly, Spencer,” Gideon reassured the young man, “he didn’t. You know that.”

Reid glanced at him out of the corners of his eyes, and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I guess I do,” he said. “But it’s _Hotch_ , you know?”

 Gideon knew. Hotch was a constant in Reid’s life, and had been for years. Gideon had been his main role model, his hero and his father. But he had left, and Hotch had remained. The unit chief would never be a father figure to Reid, or even much of a mentor in the usual sense of the word, but he was definitely a role model and a hero, probably more so than Gideon was these days, and what he said had huge impact on Reid. The kid had very little concept of Hotch losing control of his emotions.

“Even Hotch is human,” Gideon said. Reid gave him a look that was partly exasperation and partly pleading.

“I _know_ that,” he said, almost whining.

“He makes mistakes, just like all of us. He made one today.”

Reid nodded, and Gideon decided that he could leave it at that. He seemed to have made his point, and he knew that he was hardly going to conquer all of Reid’s insecurities by simply repeating himself. It was a process started several years ago and he knew he had halted it by his sudden departure, but they were getting there.

“So,” Gideon said after a few minutes more of silence, as they were getting close to Reid’s apartment, “Did you break a rule?”

“Eh… maybe?” Reid ventured, and the shrill note in his voice would immediately have given him away even if Gideon hadn’t already guessed.

“Which one?” Gideon asked calmly, because he’d realized over the years that Reid responded better to calm, reasonable questions that angry lectures.

Reid sighed and looked down at his feet, fiddling with the crutches in his hands, and looking very much like he wanted to be anywhere but there. “I was questioning my right to be on the team,” he recited, and at Gideon’s demanding nod he continued, “and I was letting myself get caught in spiral of negative thoughts without coming to you or someone else on the team for help.”

It was the exact wording Gideon had used when he had explained the rule to the kid, and though he should be used to it by now it still surprised him slightly to hear himself quoted word for word. After Reid had finished, he kept staring straight ahead with a frown on his face. It was obvious there was something he wanted to say, and Gideon gave him a curious look.

“Something on your mind?” he asked. Reid bit his lip for a moment, before he seemed to decide.

“I’m not a child,” he said.

“I know,” Gideon said, humoring him and figuring that Reid probably had some point he wanted to make.

“And I shouldn’t be treated like one.”

Gideon frowned and gave the young man a stern look, making sure to let his disapproval show. “Are you trying to talk your way out of trouble, Spencer?” he asked and noted with some satisfaction the blush that appeared on the kid’s face.

“No, I’m not,” he said, “I’m just saying that I can decide for myself what I want to think about myself.”

“No, you can’t,” Gideon replied, and when Reid looked as if he would argue he raised a hand from the wheel to stop him. “It’s not because I think you’re a child, it’s because you’re _human_. And I care about you.”

Reid snorted and gave the floor of the car a small kick. “No-one tells _you_ what to think,” he muttered.

Gideon pressed his lips together tightly and this time he didn’t show his disapproval by glaring at the young man next to him, instead he kept staring grimly at the road ahead.

“And look how that turned out,” he said. Reid frowned in confusion for a moment before he caught on to what Gideon meant, and then his cheeks flooded with color and he opened his mouth to stammer out some apology. There was an unwritten rule between them not to speak about Gideon’s state of mind when he left the BAU or Gideon’s emotional state generally, because Gideon didn’t think Reid needed to know how close he had been to doing something considerably more permanent than going on a road trip.

“It’s okay,” he reassured Reid when it seemed that the young man was too flustered to continue. “Do you see my point?”

Again, Reid bit his lip in consideration, before he nodded slowly. “I do,” he said.

For the remaining few minutes of the car ride they were silent, and Reid seemed to be too deep in thought to be bothered by it. When Gideon pulled up outside his apartment building he seemed almost surprised, and he was still fumbling with his seat belt when Gideon got around to his side of the car to help him out. For a moment it looked as if Reid would protest being assisted, but when the man moved his leg and winced at even that small movement, he seemed to realize it was for the best and allowed Gideon to pull him out of the car and support him on the way to the elevators.

Reid was grimacing in pain every step of the way from the elevator to his front door, and Gideon briefly considered carrying the kid the rest of the way, because frankly he couldn’t weigh more than 150 lbs. But before he had time to grow any more concerned about the strained look around Reid’s mouth and start to seriously consider the idea, they reached the door and Reid began fumbling for his key.

“You should take some painkiller with lunch,” Gideon told the young man, who nodded in response; perhaps not quite trusting his voice after the painful walk.

When they had entered Gideon wasted no time in steering the kid over to the couch with a firm grip on his arm. Halfway there Reid seemed to realize where this was going, and tried to fight. Wary of the risk that he would hurt himself by losing his balance or something else, Gideon halted his attempts with a firm swats to the seat of his pants. Reid turned large, accusing eyes on him.

“We just agreed you broke a rule. You thought you wouldn’t be punished?” Gideon asked, and it seemed Reid didn’t have any answer to that. When they reached the couch Gideon put aside Reid’s crutches and took a seat, then carefully lowered the young man over his lap, making sure not to damage his injured knee.

Then, without further preamble because Reid knew perfectly well why he was in this position, he smacked the backside in front of him a dozen or so times, making sure to cover it all of it but focusing the last five, hardest swat on the curve where thighs met buttocks, and drawing a small yelp from Reid. It wasn’t really much of a punishment; but it would sting for half an hour or so and it would show Reid that if rules were broken, there was punishment.

After the very brief spanking, Gideon helped Reid up, still minding his knee, and sat the young man next to him.

“What, that’s it?” Reid asked, a frown on his face. Gideon had to smile, and gave the kid an amused look.

“Unless you want more?” he said, raising his eyebrows in question. Reid quickly shook his head.

“No sir,” he said with a small smile, and as Gideon enveloped him in a sideways embrace he concluded that the kid was going to be all right, this time as well.


	8. Chapter 8

Not for the first time in his life, Hotch wished that the way to Rossi’s cabin was shorter. Because Rossi tended to bring him out there when he was in trouble, and sitting in a car with a man who you knew was about to spank you wasn’t something he enjoyed. This time, though, he was enjoying it even less than usually, because he was hurting, he was tired, he had the beginnings of a headache, his emotions were all jumbled together and he had been ordered to reflect on one of the things that would jumble them even further.

That he was cared for and what that meant for his actions.

Rossi had been gentle when he gave the instruction, but Hotch recognized the firmness of his tone and knew that it was better to obey. Especially since he had already been told to think on it once and disobeyed.

“We care about you, Aaron,” Rossi had said as he started the car, “Think about what that means.” He’d paused for a moment, before throwing Hotch a sidelong glare. “There will be a quiz.”

Hotch had no doubt that the man was at least somewhat serious, and that the “quiz” would probably be conducted as his backside was covered in hard swats by Rossi. So since he had no wish to have the punishment he was about to receive prolonged unnecessary because he couldn’t answer Rossi, he began pondering the issue.

He knew the team cared about him, he supposed. He knew they were family.  But he couldn’t help doubting it sometimes, or at least doubting that he deserved it and that it would remain that way even if they could see who he really was. The feeling that if they only saw him more clearly, weren’t blinded by the facades he put up and stopped fooling themselves with idealized pictures, they would no longer want anything to do with him was difficult to shake, and even more so in the wake of the attack. Intellectually, he could easily categorize it under the feelings of guilt and shame that often followed a trauma, but it was a completely different thing believing it.

But he doubted Rossi would dwell for long on whether Hotch believed that the team cared, because the older man usually refused to treat Hotch’s insecurities about being loved as anything more than childish and farfetched notions which were better cured by being hugged and large Italian dinners than reasoning and discussion. What Rossi would probably dwell on, however, was what this meant for how Hotch should act. And Hotch really wasn’t sure what the man was after on that point.

The obvious answer was that having people caring for him meant that his actions affected others than himself, but somehow Hotch doubted that it could be that simple. Still, thinking about it caused an uncomfortable sensation of heat to creep up his face and a churning mix of guilt, shame and embarrassment to flutter in his stomach. Which was why the prospect of dwelling on it for forty minutes was very unappealing.

When they reached the cabin Hotch still had no other answer, and though he knew that Rossi’s reaction would be no more than slight annoyance, it bothered him slightly. But he didn’t broach the subject, because this was Rossi’s show and besides he had no wish to talk about it unless he had to.

Rossi grabbed Hotch’s go-bag, which he had been ordered to bring, and gestured for Hotch to enter the cabin. Neither man said anything until they were well inside, Hotch remaining in the living room while Rossi first put away his bag and then rummaged around for a moment in the kitchen, to get painkillers Hotch realized as he came out with a glass of water in one hand and a couple of small pills in the other.

“You’re taking a nap,” Rossi announced as he handed Hotch the painkillers. “Your room or the couch?”

Hotch obediently swallowed the pills before answering. “Couch,” he decided, and after an encouraging nod from Rossi he made his way over to it, taking a seat and giving Rossi an expectant look.

The older man took a seat in an armchair opposite Hotch and for a moment Hotch was reminded of the psych evaluations that all agents had to go through. Except that the psychologists always attempted to look friendly, not stern and disapproving. Rossi cleared his throat before he spoke.

“You’re getting two spankings today, Aaron,” he said, and Hotch’s eyes widened at this surprising declaration. Never before had Rossi spanked him twice in one day. “Do you know what for?”

Hotch nodded, and at Rossi’s raised eyebrows continued. “Saying those things to Reid and Garcia,” he said, “and… uh… yesterday?”

He was a bit unsure about that, to be honest. He had sort of expected to be confronted by Rossi as soon as they were alone, and maybe not spanked but at least lectured until his ears were ringing. Instead he had received nothing but a stern and concerned glare from Rossi, and frigid silence from the rest of the team. But he had risked his life, and normally that resulted in punishment.

“Yesterday?” Rossi repeated, a clear prompt to elaborate. Hotch looked down on the hands folded in his laps, grateful that the usual order of meeting the older man’s eyes hasn’t been issued yet.

“Entering the house,” Hotch clarified, “It was dangerous.”

“It wasn’t just dangerous, Aaron,” Rossi said angrily, and with some nervousness Hotch noted just how many times the man had used his first name in the last hour, something which could be used to indicate just how much trouble Hotch is in. “It was stupid, reckless and bordering on suicidal.”

Hotch swallowed and tried to ignore the feeling of heat in his face. “Yes,” he whispered, because, really, Rossi was right.

Hotch wasn’t suicidal. He didn’t want to die; but with everything that had happened he wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to live, either. Standing there, with the possibility of saving lives and the only thing at risk his own life, it had seemed perfectly reasonable to enter the house. Because he didn’t really want his life, and it was difficult to imagine that anyone else particularly cared.

“Look at me,” Rossi ordered after a moment of letting Hotch think. Despite having expected this order, Hotch obeyed only with great reluctance. “Do you want to die?”

It took a moment for the question to register, because with his usual bluntness Rossi had given no indication that he would go from interrogating Hotch about his behavior to asking questions about his innermost state of mind. Hotch looked down again, because there was no way that he could look at Rossi if they would discuss this.

“No,” he said very quietly, barely getting the word out. It was true, but he wasn’t sure if Rossi would believe him. He hoped so, because it wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on.

“Do you want to live?”

This question was considerably gentler, and Hotch felt his eyes fill with tears as he raised a hand to rub his face. And hide it from Rossi.

“I don’t know,” he whispered truthfully, shaking his head. “I… I just don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” Rossi reassured him. Then he leant forward in his chair, closer to Hotch. “I’m gonna tell you something,” he said, “and I want you to listen, okay?”

Hotch nodded his understanding, his hand still covering his eyes. Rossi gently grabbed hold of it and pulled it away, uncovering Hotch’s strained face, but at least he didn’t repeat the order of looking at him.

“I know it hurts,” he said, “and I know it might not seem like it, but things _will_ get better, Aaron. And until then you just have to keep living, if not for yourself, then for the team.”

He paused, and grabbed a hold of Hotch’s chin so that he could meet his eyes. He tilted his head and smiled softly, though there was little happiness in the smile. “You don’t have to be happy or strong or even talk to us, but you _have_ to keep living. Your life isn’t just your own, son. You’re part of a family, and that means you have obligations; I’ve told you that before. One of those is to live.”

Hotch’s eyes filled with dears, and he made a strange sound that was half chuckle and half sob. He gave the older man a wry smile, needing to make the situation less serious. “No pressure, huh?”

Rossi frowned. “I’m serious, Aaron,” he said, “If you manage to get yourself killed because you’re reckless or self-destructive I will drag you down from Heaven and spank your bare ass every day for a week.”

There was little doubt in Hotch’s mind that Rossi was at least figuratively serious and that if he somehow could, he would go through on the threat.

He nodded. “Yes sir,” he mumbled, and it was only half jokingly. “Dave..?” he then continued after a moment.

“When will you…” he paused to swallow and futilely trying to fight the blush creeping up his cheeks, “spank me?”

“After lunch,” Rossi replied, “and then after dinner.”

Hotch sighed. “Can’t you just do it now?” he asked. Rossi shook his head.

“Sorry, but you’re too tired and in too much pain,” he said, “After your nap and you’ve had something to eat.”

The last had the unmistakable quality of an order and after saying it Rossi got up. “Lie down now,” he said, “I’ll wake you up in half an hour.”

Hotch obeyed, and he supposed that it was really a testament of how tired he was that in spite of knowing what awaited him when he woke up, he fell asleep within minutes.


	9. Chapter 9

Rossi was a fairly good cook, and the pasta he served would have been an excellent lunch if it hadn’t been for the fact that Hotch was very much aware of what would happen as soon as they were done eating.

He was going to be spanked.

That knowledge had made the meal tense, and neither man had made much attempt at conversation. Hotch ate quickly, because waiting for punishment was not something he enjoyed, and the few minutes it took Rossi to finish after that he spent trying not to fidget. It wasn’t that he was scared, really; just nervous.

The third time he straightened his tie Rossi gave him an amused look, and put down his knife and fork with a small head shake.

“Go to your room, then,” he ordered and Hotch obeyed immediately, going to the guest room that somewhere over the last ten years had become his, Rossi entering a few moments afterwards. Hotch noted with a gulp that he was carrying a hairbrush. He should have expected it, he supposed, but it was still something of an unwelcome surprise.

The older man frowned and looked around the room thoughtfully. “I think it’s best if you put your hands on the desk,” he said, “I don’t want to mess up your wounds.”

Hotch didn’t argue, just nodded and at Rossi’s gesture he placed his hands on the edge of the desk, bent over slightly.

“Pants down,” Rossi ordered. That too, was expected but it didn’t stifle his sigh as he straightened and unbuckled his belt, letting his pants fall down to his knees before he bent over.

“Take a step back,” Rossi ordered, and Hotch obeyed, leaving him feeling considerably more exposed. Rossi put a hand on his back; partly to keep up his shirt, Hotch thought, but mostly as a comforting and warm weight, holding him in place. “This spanking is for yesterday, Aaron. Tell me what.”

Rossi didn’t wait for Hotch to answer before he brought the brush down, and Hotch couldn’t help but flinch at the impact. It hurt.

“I went into the house without my vest,” he said, forcing himself to keep his voice steady despite the fact that his backside was assaulted by rapid, hard, stinging swats.

“And without discussing it with anyone,” Rossi added. “You should at least talk to us.”

He didn’t say anything more for a while; just continued the spanking silently and soon Hotch considered breaking the silence himself. The first time Rossi had spanked him with a hair brush instead of his hand he’d been surprised at how much it hurt, but he always thought that he was used to it the next time the older man felt it was necessary. He never was, though.

“Well, continue,” Rossi prompted after a while, “Why’re you getting punished for that?”

“It was dangerous,” Hotch replied, and when he heard Rossi snort, obviously preparing to correct him, he added. “ _Very_ dangerous. I was risking my life.”

“Uh-huh. Continue.”

Although Hotch was familiar with Rossi’s reasons behind punishments by now, especially concerning danger, he realized that he had much preferred how it went ten years ago. Back then Rossi would ask him actual question instead of just prompting him vaguely, and just giving answers was much simpler than formulating a proper explanation while someone was spanking you with a hairbrush.

“My life matters.”

“Exactly,” Rossi agreed. “Remember that.”

It would be difficult not to, Hotch reflected, at least for a few days, when he would still feel some pain from the spanking. Rossi didn’t speak any more as he continued spanking; the swats rhythmical and unchanging, rapidly increasing the pain. As his eyes were beginning to tear up, Hotch decided that it was time to continue. Not that he really had much chance of shortening the punishment; but at least he would get the talking part out of the way.

“It was inconsiderate,” he began, “to the team and… ah!”

It was half a yelp, half a gasp, because Rossi had landed a smack near the top of his thighs in a spot that, Hotch realized, was already very much stinging with pain. The knowledge that every swat onward would only be more and more painful didn’t exactly comfort him and he shifted slightly as he ground out his first apology of the day.

“I’m sorry, Dave,” he said. Rossi, however, didn’t seem very impressed by his apology and Hotch realized, with some apprehension, that this was going to be a long and harsh spanking.

“Uh-huh,” Rossi said, “What for?”

“Putting myself in danger,” Hotch replied immediately. He _was_ sorry, he supposed, and not only because it had resulted in punishment. He might not feel that life was particularly worth living right now, but Rossi was right that he did have responsibilities. To Jack, first of all. It was too painful to even consider the idea of Jack returning from witness protection to be told that daddy wasn’t there anymore. But he had obligations to the team as well; because even though he wasn’t egotistical enough to think that they relied solely on him, he was responsible for them. And there was Rossi of course; the older man definitely deserved better than to have Hotch get himself killed.

“You could have died,” Rossi clarified, his voice hard and Hotch closed his eyes in a futile attempt to get away from the recrimination.

“Yes,” he said, “I know.”

“You blocked the shot!” Rossi continued. Hotch had almost hoped that had slipped the man’s mind. Before he had time to agree, Rossi spoke again. “When was the last time that happened on this team?”

Hotch instantly knew where the man was going with this and at the thought he blushed furiously.

“When Reid did it,” he replied, “in – ah! In Texas.”

“And what did you do about it?” Rossi asked calmly. Calm was better than angry, at least.

“I spanked him,” Hotch admitted, though he wanted very much to ignore the question. He’d been so very upset when Reid had pulled that stunt… And now he found himself being punished for doing more or less the exact same thing. It was humbling, to say the least. With a sudden burst of guilt, he also realized the fear and worry he had felt when he watched Reid with that kid must be exactly what Rossi had felt when he’d entered the house.

“Think about that for a moment,” Rossi replied, still calm, which was little comfort by now because every stroke of the brush made him want to get up and stop Rossi, or at least cry out. He didn't though, the crying out partly mostly out of habit. “What’s it tell Reid if you do the very things you punish him for? You’re not a kid without responsibilities anymore, Aaron; you have people who look up to you.”

“Yes!” Hotch agreed quickly, his voice showing some of his irritation at Rossi’s words. He _knew_ all that and he already felt bad about it. Rossi didn’t need to lecture him or spank him to make him realize it; the guilt was prominent enough already. “I know!”

“Watch your tone,” Rossi reprimanded him sharply in response, and Hotch was pretty certain that the following three swats were made extra hard to remind him of this, but with the now burning pain all over his backside it was difficult to tell. “And obviously you don’t, at least not well enough. Or you ignored it, which is actually worse. So maybe what you need is simply some incentive to remember it the next time you think about doing something stupid.”

Hotch wanted to shout that Rossi had already provided all the incentive he needed for a lifetime, but he wasn’t stupid. So instead, he apologized.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking care not to raise his voice too much, because that might be mistaken for attitude. “I-I really am, Dave. S-sorry.”

He wasn’t sure what he felt about being unable to keep his voice steady; unable to keep the gasps of pain at bay. He knew Rossi wouldn’t think less of him for it, because he’d made that abundantly clear several years ago, but losing his composure and crying like a child because he was being spanked still wasn’t something he could easily reconcile with what he expected of himself. Not that it mattered much; around Rossi he didn’t need to hold himself up to his own standards, because it was the older man’s rules that applied.

“I know,” Rossi replied gently, “It’s okay.”

But as expected, he didn’t stop spanking. Because this was serious, and Rossi would want to make the spanking memorable. Hotch just hoped that the punishment he’d receive later in the day wouldn’t be as bad.

As there was nothing more said, Hotch was unable to divert his attention from the hard swats relentlessly coming down on his behind, each one increasing the pain and making the task of not straightening and trying to stop Rossi more and more challenging. Not crying was also made more difficult, and after a few moments of silence except for the brisk sound of wood meeting flesh Hotch abandoned all pretenses of not being on the absolute verge of tears and began crying, not even bothering not to make sounds.

Rossi rubbed his back comfortingly, but still didn’t end the spanking

“Dave,” Hotch managed to get out through his tears. “P-please… ah! I’m sorry!”

He still hadn’t managed to figure out why a spanking was so much more painful than it by all logic should be, but at the moment it didn’t really matter. All he knew was that he desperately wanted Rossi to stop.

And soon, to Hotch’s relief, he did. “We’re done, Aaron,” he said softly and he allowed Hotch to stand up and pull up his pants, buckling the belt somewhat clumsily. Rossi didn’t stress him, just kept his hand on Hotch’s shoulder to remind him that he was still there, but allowed Hotch to take his time to regain some of his composure. Not that it would matter to Rossi, Hotch knew, but it mattered to him. He had already broken down and cried in the man’s arms once today and he would prefer it if this embrace didn’t end up with him clutching at the older man like a hysterical child.

After a few moments more he was turned around by Rossi and pulled into the expected hug. Hotch didn’t cling, and he didn’t really need to; the older man’s hold was tight enough for the both of them. And though he knew he should probably had made some sort of attempt at regaining his dignity and not let Rossi hold him and stroke his hair like a he was a crying child, Hotch was too exhausted to do anything but remain in the embrace. Because not only did his backside hurt; the crying had made his head feel as if it was stuffed with wool and aching slightly, and his wounds were itching. All in all, he felt fairly terrible and Rossi’s warm embrace was making it better.

“Aaron…” Rossi said after a while, and Hotch acknowledged him with a grunt, “You’re not allowed to get yourself killed. That is what this was about. Got it?”

“Yes,” Hotch mumbled in reply.

“Good,” Rossi praised him softly, “You don’t have to worry about anything else if you don’t want to, Aaron. You don’t have to be unit chief. Hell, you don’t even have to be an agent.”

“I know.”

 “I hope so,” Rossi replied, and for a moment he kept his hold on Hotch, not saying anything, just rubbing his back comfortingly. “You should try to sleep some more, now.”

Hotch didn’t argue, because despite having slept nearly forty minutes just half an hour ago, he was exhausted and the prospect of a warm bed was very much appealing. He nodded his agreement and extracted himself to Rossi’s hug, moving over the bed with the older man’s hand still on his back.

Having no desire to sit down on the bed sooner than he had to, Hotch unbuttoned his shirt and carefully folded it, placing it on the chest of drawers next to the bed. He would have found some other way to stall, but as he caught Rossi’s glance he abandoned the idea. Gingerly, he took a seat on the bed, wincing slightly, before bending down to take off his shoes. Depositing them neatly he then lay down and was about to roll over onto his stomach as a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Sorry, Hotch,” Rossi said, “You have to keep pressure off your wounds. Doctor’s orders.”

Hotch glared, but obediently lay back down on his back. “Jo’s orders, you mean,” he said. Rossi shrugged.

“Jo is a doctor,” the older man replied with a small smirk. “Speaking of Jo; I spoke to Alex last night. He invited all the team to come and visit.”

“You think we should?” Hotch asked. Rossi shrugged.

“We could use the time off,” he said and Hotch nodded in agreement, not sure if it was because he actually agreed or because he was too tired to think of anything else to do. Rossi didn’t reply and for a moment the room was comfortably silent, the sound of the clock from the kitchen ticking barely audible. After listening to it for a few seconds, Hotch mustered up enough courage to ask the question that was weighing most heavily on his mind.

“Will the next spanking be as bad?” he said, sounding a bit childish even to himself. Rossi shook his head with a small smirk.

“Nah,” he said, “Far from it.”

That, at least, was a relief. Hotch smiled tiredly at the older man, who patted his shoulder reassuringly. And although it didn’t look as if Rossi had any intention of doing anything but sit there, he feel the childish need to reassure himself of the older man’s continued presence.

“Dave…?” he said quietly. “Will you stay?”

Rossi smiled, entirely genuinely this time, and moved his hand from Hotch’s to a motion over his hair that wasn’t quite ruffling it and not quite stroking it. “As long as you want me to, son.”


	10. Chapter 10

The team, Hotch noted with satisfaction, appeared to have bounced back from yesterday without problem. His words, although they had obviously hurt Garcia and Reid yesterday, now seemed to be forgotten.

He had apologized, of course, and Rossi’s strict order to do so had only been a small part of the reason. What he had said had hurt his team members and although he felt that he had been punished quite sufficiently for it, that didn’t mean he didn’t have to make amends.

The easy acceptance of the apologies that both Garcia and Reid had given shouldn’t really have come as a surprise, but he was still a bit bewildered. Garcia had cried, and still she forgave him after nothing more than a few, albeit very sincere, words. She had even given him cookies, though he couldn’t help but think that that might have been for the pleasure of watching him blush as he tried to find a good way of explaining why he couldn’t possibly accept them. In the end, he’d ended up accepting them, of course, but he had gotten Garcia’s permission to share with the rest of the team as a peace offering.

Reid was worse. Because Hotch was supposed to protect the young man from people wanting to hurt him, to make sure that no-one took advantage of his vulnerability or made fun of him. And then he ended up hurting him himself. But Reid had forgiven him, of course, because it was in his nature just as much as it was in Garcia’s and to be honest it had seemed he was more disturbed by the idea that Hotch had been spanked than that Hotch had been a jerk.

After assuring Reid that what he had said had been completely without deeper meaning than the need to lash out at something, he had given the man some cookies, which had been gleefully accepted, before taking Reid back to the bullpen, where all of the team seemed to be waiting for him; probably Rossi’s doing. Because even though it was Reid and Garcia that had been immediately affected, Hotch owed an apology to the rest of the team as well and since Rossi wanted him to get back to his cabin as soon as possible this was easier than finding them one by one. Not that Hotch would have minded sticking around at the BAU a bit; as soon as he got back to Rossi’s cabin he would be stuck there for at least the weekend, more or less grounded. 

Fortunately, Rossi seemed prepared to go a bit easy on the “you go home as soon as you have apologized to everyone”-order, because after his sincere apology, the team, including Rossi, remained in the bullpen, joking and laughing which served as balm on Hotch’s still raw emotions. Rossi was right; he might have messed up, but the team wasn’t about to abandon him because of it. Nothing was out of the ordinary; Reid was sprouting statistics, Garcia and Morgan were flirting, Prentiss was her normal sarcastic self and JJ was trying to make everything run smoothly.

Suddenly, the idyllic little family meeting was interrupted, by no other than a very annoyed Erin Strauss.

“Agent Hotchner,” she snapped, and Hotch straightened slightly, putting on his most polite and attentive face.

“Ma’am?” he asked and he didn’t have to try to sound curious. Whereas it was well-known that Strauss didn’t particularly care for Hotch’s unit, she normally limited her dislike to obstructing bureaucracy, and her storming into the BAU bullpen was unheard of.

“I just got a call from assistant director Berkley,” Strauss said, her voice icy. Hotch waited for her to continue, but when she didn’t he politely prompted her.

“Yes?”

“He thinks,” she continued, “that your team needs a vacation.”

Hotch wanted to glance at Rossi, because he strongly suspected that it was the older man who had pulled some strings to get that call to happen, but he wasn’t about to give Strauss any more ammunition.

“More specifically, one week of team building. In Maine. Somerset County, specifically.”

Now Hotch was more or less certain this was all Rossi’s doing. Leroy lived in Somerset since his retirement, and although Hotch wouldn’t deny that there were some coincidences in the world this was far too much. Normally, Hotch would assure Strauss that they didn’t need a vacation at all and that there must have been some sort of misunderstanding, but they really did need a vacation. Besides, if this was Rossi’s doing he had no wish to challenge the man.

“That’s very considerate of the AD,” Hotch replied diplomatically instead, at which Strauss’s lips tightened and she gave him a scathing look.

“You leave on Tuesday,” she said curtly, before turning on her heel and exiting. Hotch waited until she was well away before turning to glare at Rossi with his eyebrows raised in silent question. Rossi, who had been watching Strauss’s departure with a large grin, looked surprised when he caught the glare. He spread his hands in a show of innocence, but his smirk was far from it.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” he said. “I don’t even know Berkley. Alex, on the other hand…”

Hotch resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He should have guessed. Of course Leroy couldn’t simply wait for their answer like normal people did; instead he had to make sure that they visited before the month was over.

“Who’s “Alex?” Reid asked and as he looked at the team Hotch realized that that was the question pretty much all of them wanted to ask. He looked to Rossi, who shrugged.

“An old friend,” he said, “He wants us to come and visit.”

“You and Hotch?” Reid prompted, and Hotch could hear the uncertainty in his voice. Rossi rolled his eyes.

“No, all of us,” he clarified and Reid opened his mouth slightly in surprise. Apparently he still had trouble believing that someone would want to meet him. He frowned.

“Why?”

Rossi hesitated for a moment, surveying the team thoughtfully. Hotch supposed that he was thinking up some sarcastic retort. It turned out, he wasn’t.

“I guess he wants to get to know his family,” he said, smirking, and before anyone had time to respond he turned around and left, heading for his office. It was definitely true, Hotch decided, that Rossi had a flair for the dramatic and he smiled slightly as the rest of the team directed looks of various levels of shock after the man. Rossi just didn’t do sentimental expressions of affection.

“Okay…” Prentiss drawled out after a moment’s silence and with this breaking the tension. Morgan chuckled and shook his head disbelievingly, JJ just shook his head and Garcia made some sort of cooing noise. Reid still looked mostly confused and after another moment of staring at the door to Rossi’s office he turned to Hotch.

“Are we going?” he asked. Hotch shrugged with a smile.

“I don’t really think we have a choice,” he said, which only seemed to deepen the confusion on the faces of his team. Deciding to take a leaf out of his mentor’s book, Hotch ignored the looks and made his own dramatic exit, heading for his office, smiling widely.


End file.
